Second Chance

by Linda Kepner

  “What else did my brother say?” she asked curiously.

  “Just that he didn’t know your plans. Louis was disappointed that there was no forwarding address in your brother’s note. Oh, to think that you should be here!” She hugged Bishou again. “Oh, I must tell Etien. No, I won’t have to. He’ll be home for lunch in a few minutes. He’ll bring the boys. You’ll have lunch with us, then?”

  Bishou was still smiling. “Of course I will. I’ve wanted to meet all of you for so long.”

  “You wanted to meet us? Mon Dieu!” Denise exclaimed. “Oh, wait, wait, I hear the car. Oh, viens, viens.” She almost dragged Bishou bodily to the entryway.

  They heard boys’ voices, laughter, and their father’s replies. Then the front door opened. A thin, bespectacled businessman in a suit, with a schoolboy on either side, stared in surprise at his wife who rested an arm around another woman.

  “Bonjour,” said Etien Campard courteously, looking questions at his wife.

  “Etien,” said Denise, “voici Bishou.”

  Etien Campard dropped his briefcase. Stunned, he stepped forward and hugged her. “Oh, mon Dieu. Bishou.”

  “Bonjour, mon ami,” she said in his ear, returning the hug. “I am so glad to meet you at last.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Meeting you. Making sure Louis is all right. Traveling before I start working at a full-time job.”

  He pulled back enough to look at her. “Louis said you received your doctorate.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And now you are free of your obligations in America?”

  “Oui, I am.”

  A smile lit up his face. “I am glad to hear that.”

  Denise dragged them all to the lunch table. The boys started asking the strange lady questions. They were interested to hear that she had two younger brothers and an older one, in America. Did they have a dog? Had she ever seen an Indian? Did she climb on the Rocky Mountains? Their questions seemed childish — the boys were almost the same ages as her younger brothers. Then she thought, No, my brothers have aged before their time.

  “So Louis does not know you are here,” said Etien.

  “Etien! Let’s surprise him,” said his wife.

  “I’m not sure about that,” Bishou objected. “I don’t want him to faint again.”

  “That was stress and exhaustion,” Denise said. “He’s at home now, having lunch. Why don’t we invite him to come over?”

  “Yes! Let’s surprise Oncle Louis!” said Jean-Luc, the elder son.

  “I don’t know,” said Bishou. “Don’t you think it will upset him too much?”

  “Non!” said the younger boy, Pierrot. “Not Oncle Louis. Besides, we’ll be here to take care of him.”

  “Are you going to marry him?” Jean-Luc asked.

  The parents looked shocked at such a loaded question, but Bishou understood how young boys’ minds worked. “Why, do you think he needs someone to take care of him?”

  “Bien sûr,” Jean-Luc replied. “He’s got Bettina the housekeeper and Madeleine the cook, but they don’t keep a really good eye on him.”

  “He gets sick,” Pierrot contributed, “and Papa and Maman worry about him.”

  “It’s difficult, isn’t it?” she agreed. “My brothers and I have to worry about our parents the same way. They are very sick. My maman is in a wheelchair.”

  “Really? A wheelchair?” Pierrot’s eyes grew as big as saucers. “Do you push her around?”

  “Sometimes. But she knows how to turn the wheels herself, too.”

  “Wow. Is there snow where you live?”

  “Yes, there is. We go hiking and skiing in it.”

  “Wow,” said the boys.

  Etien’s eyes twinkled as he realized that Bishou understood the children’s questions, and was not embarrassed. “Now. What do we do? Do we telephone Oncle Louis?”

  “Yes!”

  “And what do I say? I am not a good liar.”

  “Tell him that we have something for him, and it just arrived on the ferry,” his wife suggested. “That is close enough to the truth. And we did have him over for a little party, two weeks ago, when he turned thirty-six. Let him think it’s a late present.”

  “He’ll look in the window, rather than knock. He always does.”

  “The boys will hide in the bedroom with Bishou. They can sneak up on him once he sits down at the table.”

  “We are sure to give it away.”

  “Well,” said Bishou, “if we do, then we can be sure he won’t faint, yes?”

  Etien grinned. Denise giggled. Etien rose, went to the telephone, and dialed a number.

  After a pause, he said, “Bettina, c’est Etien Campard. May I speak with Monsieur Dessant, please? Allo, Louis? Can you come over? There’s something here at the house, just arrived on the ferry, that I want you to see. I may need some help with it. Non, non, it’s hard to describe. You will see. Come and have coffee with us, too. Bon, ten minutes. Au revoir.” Etien hung up. “Ten minutes.”

  “I heard,” said Bishou.

  The boys led her into their parents’ darkened bedroom, just off the living room. They all squatted down beside the bed.

  “Ssh, ssh!” they whispered, giggling, “or he’ll hear us.”

  The boys gripped her arms tightly when they heard a car arrive, the sound of footsteps, and Louis’s voice. Then Bishou heard Etien Campard opening the front door, and Louis stepping inside.

  “Well, what is this thing, Etien?” Louis Dessant asked his partner.

  “I’ll show you in a bit. Come have some coffee.” Etien led him to the dining area.

  Bishou and the children peeked out the bedroom door to see a man dressed in white, his back to them, seated on a dining room chair.

  Louis exchanged greetings with Denise, who poured coffee, made sure he had cream, all the little things one does for a guest.

  Bishou whispered to the boys, “You must go out and say hello, and distract him. Make sure he does not look behind him, and I will sneak across.”

  The boys, grinning, ran out. “Boujour, Oncle Louis!”

  “Bonjour, mes enfants!” he greeted them cheerfully. “What is this surprise, do you know?” He was nonplussed when both boys giggled.

  “Jean-Luc, Pierrot, you come and sit down over here, beside me,” their mother interposed.

  “Oh, Maman, I will stay here — ”

  “Come,” she said firmly, while Etien wiped a grin from his face and sat down beside his partner. Jean-Luc continued standing behind Louis’s left shoulder, trying hard not to giggle.

  “Jean-Luc, you are up to something,” Louis said, suspicious.

  Etien poured cream into Louis’s coffee and appeared calm — although he couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eye. The atmosphere in the room seemed almost electric.

  Bishou made an exaggerated business out of sneaking up behind Louis. Denise tried hard not to look, and failed. One boy was giggling, the other was clenching his jaw. Louis could tell that something was happening behind his back. When he started to turn around, Jean-Luc put his hands over Louis’s eyes.

  “Oh, non, Oncle Louis, don’t turn your head!”

  “You’ll spoil the surprise,” Etien concurred. Etien’s assurance made Louis stop and sigh.

  “You monkeys are up to something,” he said.

  “Oui, they are,” Etien agreed, “but I think it’s a surprise you will like.”

  “I don’t like surprises. At all. Ever,” said Louis flatly.

  She was close enough, now, to nod to Jean-Luc. He slid his hands away from Louis’s eyes, and she slid hers into place.

  “All right,” said Etien, in that same reasonable voice. “Guess the surprise.”

  Louis touched the hands over his eyes, felt a woman’s fingernails. He felt her left wrist, and the lady’s watch she wore. He touched the college ring on her right hand.

  “Une bague — ” He stood up like a shot, and spun around, staring at h
er. At last, he spoke. “Bishou?”

  “Oui, Louis.”

  “Bishou.” Louis pushed the chair aside. He reached out and drew her closely. He closed his eyes, and pressed his face into her hair. “Bishou.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oui.”

  His voice was soft and disbelieving. “How can this be? You are in America. You are half a world away.”

  “Non, I am right here.”

  “Ah, non,” he said, pressing his face into her shoulder, “I am hallucinating again.”

  “Aussi,” she said. Me, too.

  Smiling, Etien asked Louis, “Well. Was it worth the trip over here?”

  • • •

  They sat on the couch while Louis tried to recover himself. When he could form sentences again, he asked, “But why are you here?”

  They still held hands. “I came to see how you were doing,” she told him.

  “But Etien could have told you that,” he gently protested.

  “Etien only says what he wants me to hear.”

  “Well, that is true,” Louis agreed in amusement, watching the indignant look on Etien’s face. “But it is all for the best, you know. That is what he would tell us.” An anxious look appeared. “Your degree, it is all right, is it not?”

  “Of course it is. Do you want to see it? It’s in my luggage in the hotel room.”

  “Hotel room? Friends on this island, and you stay in a hotel room? Etien?”

  Apparently, Etien had the same thought. “Stay here, Bishou.”

  “Non. It wouldn’t be right to stay with either of you. The hotel it is.”

  “If you say so,” Louis said grudgingly. “I would not waste my time and energy arguing with you. I know better.” He released her hand. “Now, tell me how you came here.”

  Bishou drank some of Denise’s coffee. “Well. After the World Tobacco Conference ended, I finished my dissertation. In June, I defended it against the examining panel, and waited at home with my family to see if I would need to prepare a responsion.”

  “Responsion?”

  “Response to objections to my thesis. But no, it went through without too much difficulty, grâce à Dieu. Dr. Roth telephoned even before I got the official letter.”

  “Congratulations!” Etien said heartily.

  Louis still watched her carefully. “But then something happened,” he prompted.

  She glanced at him, wondering how he could possibly know that.

  “Your plan was to seek work in America, and take your brothers off Bat’s hands. That did not happen. Why not?”

  She sighed and looked for words. “Bat told me he wanted to stay on at home, and told me to travel.”

  “Told you?”

  “Oui, told me. Things are not good with Bat,” she said in a very restrained voice.

  Louis patted her leg, and dropped the subject. “How are you dealing with exhaustion and décalage?” he asked, with an impish grin.

  “Terribly. I can feel myself falling asleep, even now. And I do so need a bath.” Bishou stood. “Let me go back to the hotel and sleep. Perhaps I can see you, tomorrow afternoon?”

  Louis also stood. “I will drive you back.”

  “No, you won’t,” said Etien, also standing. “If you drive a young lady back to Pension Étoile, Louis, those old birds will gossip for a week.”

  “And if you do it, they will say Etien Campard has not only a wife, but a mistress,” Louis returned. “Stay out of trouble, will you?” There was a little volley of friendly half-insults, but Louis eventually won his point. He escorted Bishou outside, where a neat little Mercedes convertible, top down, waited behind a yellow Panhard. Louis held the door for Bishou to get into the white convertible. Of course, thought Bishou, it would be white.

  They drove as slowly as the autobus, down the narrow dirt path and back to the equally narrow main road. Even the road was green, half-covered with grass.

  “I’ve never ridden in a Mercedes before,” said Bishou.

  “Really?” He shifted gears and glanced at her in surprise. “Are there not many in New England?”

  “Non. They’re diesel, and don’t start well in cold weather.”

  “Only you, Bishou, would know the man’s reason why no one owns the car. A woman would be more likely to say it is not pretty, or it is not very comfortable.” Louis glanced at her as she leaned back to look at the trees and the sky. “I am so glad to see you, mon amie. I cannot quite persuade myself yet that you are real.”

  She closed her eyes, letting the sun beat upon her face and the wind blow through her short hair. Birds chirped. A distant animal hooted. “I’m real, Louis.”

  He kept his eyes on the road. “So I see. I will pick you up tomorrow afternoon, around three. Is that agreeable to you?”

  “I will be ready,” she promised.

  It took about twenty minutes for him to reach the pension. There was not much traffic, but he did not hurry. She was half-asleep when they arrived.

  Louis reached out and touched her shoulder. “Ah. Are you asleep?”

  “No. But I was drifting off. Thank you for the ride, Louis.”

  Louis got out and opened the car door for her. She gave him her hands, and he clasped them. He gazed into her eyes.

  “It is still a dream,” he said. “I will know for certain if I come here tomorrow, and you are not here. And never have been.”

  Bishou smiled. “I’ll be here, Louis.”

  “Promise me?”

  “I promise.”

  She watched the white car drive off. He still doesn’t believe I’m real, she mused. He expects to have the rug yanked out from under him.

  The pension was nearly empty, a good time to take a bath. She bathed and washed her hair. The warm bathwater made her so sleepy that she returned to her room, donned her pajamas, wound her little traveling clock, climbed into bed, and fell asleep.

  Chapter 15

  The deep horn of the Mauritius Pride as it docked told her it was morning even before she opened her eyes. She had slept the day through, and the night. Her little alarm clock said eight o’clock. She got up, found fresh clothes, and made her way to the bathroom at the end of the hall. After that, she went downstairs.

  The sisters greeted her. “We tapped on your door last night, and never a sound,” said the elder sister, Eliane. “I hope you don’t mind — I used my passkey to look in and make sure you were all right.”

  “I don’t mind. Was I snoring?” Bishou asked with a grin.

  “Perhaps a little,” Eliane admitted.

  “You were certainly exhausted,” the other sister, Marie, commented. “Come, come, we still have some coffee and croissants.”

  They led her in behind the counter, back to their own area, and sat her down.

  “Now,” said Eliane, patting her knee. “Was that Monsieur Dessant who brought you home?”

  “Oui. He is an old friend.”

  “He is? Where did you meet him?”

  “I was a translator at East Virginia University when he attended the World Tobacco Conference there.”

  “I thought he spoke English,” said Eliane.

  “Yes, he does, and very well. But he was not certain his knowledge of English would be enough for an entire conference, so he hired someone through the university to assist him — me.”

  “Oh, how exciting!” Marie exclaimed. “But, you know, he has a reputation, do you not?”

  “Reputation? How so?” Bishou pretended she did not know.

  “He did a very foolish thing in his younger days,” said Eliane.

  Marie pooh-poohed her elder sister. “But it was so romantic, and how was he to know? He arranged for a mail-order bride, and fell in love with her at once when she arrived. She was incredibly beautiful, Mademoiselle. I remember seeing her. And the wedding! The entire island was there, I think.”

  Eliane took up the tale, frowning. “And she turned out to be a criminal. She and her lover had murdered the real bride. She broke away
from her lover, and ensnared Louis Dessant instead. Monsieur was so entranced; he even killed a detective to protect her.”

  “And they ran away, throughout France,” Marie cut in. “They were on the run for at least a year. And when the police finally caught them, she killed herself — right before his eyes — rather than be arrested. She knew how evil she was. But poor Monsieur Dessant, he was taken.”

  “He paid for their crimes,” Eliane said sternly. It was difficult to tell her actual feelings from her expression.

  “How did he end up, back here?” Bishou asked, wondering how they would respond.

  “This is his island,” Marie replied. “He is one of us. We wouldn’t let him down.”

  Those words rang in her ears as she wandered down the streets of Saint-Denis. He is one of us, we wouldn’t let him down. Not much different from her family, really.

  Bishou stopped before a dress shop. Sundresses hung in the window. If she stayed in Saint-Denis much longer, she might have to get one. Her own clothes felt so hot. Another shop window displayed high-heeled shoes. Sexy, feminine, attractive ones, the kind she never wore. Another store was a jewelry shop. Skip that. The next was a bridal boutique. Skip that, too, she told herself.

  Bishou bought coffee at a little café, and sat at a table on the sidewalk. Very Parisian, she thought. When she finished her coffee, she continued on toward the université. As she crossed the street to enter the université gates, a little yellow car cut her off. Startled for a moment, she realized the car was a Panhard. Driving it was Etien Campard.

  He was not smiling. “What are you doing here, Bishou?”

  She slid in beside him. “Why are you here, Etien?”

  He pulled over to the curb, parked, and shut off the engine. “Answer my question, Bishou, please.”

  She regarded him with surprise. “Etien, why are you upset?”

  “I want to know what you are doing in this part of town.”

  Suddenly, Bishou understood. She was touched.

  “Etien.” She smiled. “Let me show you. Come, get out of the car.” When he hesitated, she repeated, “Viens.” Come. In the tense of a friend.

  Unwillingly, Etien got out of the car. Even more unwillingly, he took her hand. She clasped it firmly, and drew him across the road. They entered the université gates and she took him to the “Jobs Board,” as it was known in America, and showed him the posting.